Her
by Roaming Tigress
Summary: Carlos has discovered it was Andrew who ran over his mother and wants him put away in jail, but will Bree let him?
1. Say No More

**Her  
**by Roaming Tigress

"Gabrielle left the door unlocked."

Carlos froze. He had his fears; one of them being people preying upon him when he was vulnerable as he was feeling now. Prison had not been kind to him -- or for that matter, his confidence. Around any corner there could be someone out there to get you, he reminded himself. Always sleep with one eye open. He may be out of prison, but the scars of what happened there during his stay remained.**  
**  
Five days had past since he had learned that it was Andrew Van DeKamp who was responsible for the hit in run that had put his mother into a coma. The source of this information was ironically delivered to him from the boy who he had beaten up -- Justin. It seemed that he had a bone to pick with Andrew; he had once thought he loved him, but as it turned out, he was only being used in order to satisfy his selfish urge to ruin the life of his mother. 

Carlos had thoughts of killing the boy -- but would it be worth it, to risk being sent back to the place in which he nearly died? He had a family now to cherish and to protect, how could they cope if he wasn't free? Thoughts of Gabrielle's stepfather crept into his mind. How could he protect her from him should he find out about her whereabouts, if he was behind bars? Those five days were hell for Carlos, and it was only made worse for him when it was discovered that it was the delinquent's mother who hid the evidence of the crime had had committed.

"I hear you want to take legal action against Andrew and I."

If there was anyone Carlos feared on Wisteria Lane, it was Bree Van DeKamp. He had always found her too complicated, too tightly wound. There have been times that he would swear she wasn't human, just something that was released from a time capsle dating 1950.

"Court proceedings will start Wednesday . . .It's the earliest date." Even as he laid in bed with the covers practically covering over his head, Carlos felt her intense blue eyes on him. 

Not if Bree had anything to do with it. She stood in the doorframe of the bedroom, still as a statue with her arms crossed over her chest. Every inch of her was regal, poised, controlled, hiding the anger was boiling up to the surface.With her being all about image, Hell would freeze over if this matter was taken to court. It was bad enough dealing with Rex's name being leaked out from Maisy Gibbons' little black book of clients, but the thought of the entire neighbourhood knowing about her son's crime and her covering it up was beyond abomination. Even though he was doing the right thing, Carlos, to her, was the enemy that needed to be squashed. 

She replied cooly and smiled that smile that always manages to deliver a chill down his spine. "No."

"The boy needs to be punished," Carlos replied, turning over to face her once he found the courage to be able to look her in those eyes. "You can't keep sending him to that camp and expecting that he'll become an upstanding citizen overnight. He needs discipline, and he'll get that when he was in prison. I still have a ways to go, but in all, it has made me become a better person when I came out of that place. It gave me a new outlook on life."

Fire met fire, and Bree was set ablaze. She could care less to hear more from him. How dare that man challenge her, to tell her what to do with her son, to tell her what would be good for him! Thoughts of her son being put through what Carlos had in in his stay raced through her mind. She pictured him beaten and broken in his cell, and worse -- dead, in a morge, a fate in which the ex successful stock broker nearly faced. No, he can't go in there, she thought. Never. 

Slowly and smoothly, she made her way towards the bed. So intent Bree was on him that she overlooked the imperfections that were in front of her; namely, the mess of linens. "Don't you dare tell me what is best for my family!"

"Have you ever throught of the pain you caused another family?" Carlos asked, shifting himself back a little ways as she came nearer. "I loved Mama more than anything . . . The one thing I wanted to do for her would be to find who ran over her and left her in the street. Now that I know . . . I want to seek justice." 

Just as he went to get up off the bed to get himself out of the confrontation, Bree grabbed his arm and pulled him in so close that their noses were nearly touching each other. 

"Just to remind you, I am an appointmented member of the NRA. So unless you want to move in with your mother, you may just want to lay off on the passive aggressive threats you are making." Her voice was filled with pure venom and Carlos cringed as the words hit him like a train. 

Yes, he would rather be be with her, hiding behind her for protection like he did when his father used to beat him. Hell, at this point, Carlos would've been hiding behind his tiny wife -- and if he could've fitted under it, the bed. He grimaced as the grip on his arm tightened, but even that wasn't as painful as the words that were spoken. 

"Am I making myself clear?" The fear in his eyes gave her the answer.

Carlos felt himself falling into hopelessness -- but in honour of his mother, he pulled out in the moment he was going to admit defeat. "Maybe you were never as close to your mother as I was. Maybe you never spent endless nights wondering who was the one who left her the road to die."

"Actually . . . " Bree's eyes softened, as did her grip on his arm as she was reminded of her own mother's demise. "Nothing could be further from the truth, Carlos. I've been in your position before. I lost my mother to a hit and run, and . . . We never knew who did it. It all happend around Christmas, and it happend all too fast. One moment she was singing carols with us, then the next I heard the sound of the tires screeching . . ."

"Say no more of it . . . " Carlos said quietly, relaxing somewhat but not letting down his guard, just in case Bree was luring him into some sort of emotion trap that would get him onto her side. 

"You've been through a lot lately, and I mean it when I say it would be better to have Andrew in prison. There are people in there that can help him . . . When Gabrielle had her miscarriage, I just turned into a complete wreck. Ripped my hands open after taking it out on a matress, and I don't want you to tell Gabby about this because she'd freak, but . . . I had thoughts of suicide. Before I even attempted anything drastic like that though,. this Catholic group signed me up for help and had me paroled. He may feel resentment, but . . . In the long term, it'd be for the best. For him, and for you."

Carlos spoke of the truth but Bree didn't want to hear it. She spaced out for a moment, blankly staring into space. If Andrew hated her already, how much more would he hate her when he gets thrown in jail? She had to accept what was going to happen would happen even if Carlos didn't bring it up. Already bitten once and twice shy, she knew Justin would do it if she didn't step up. If only there was another way, she thought.

Ah, but perhaps there is another way.

If there is one thing that Bree's marriage of eighteen years taught her, it was that men could be easily manipulated. Carlos may be a very different man than Rex, but still a mere man nonetheless, and the same basic rules applied. The same weapon was needed, and that was the power of seduction. It the same tool which Gabrielle had used against him time and time again for twelve years, and without fail. It seemed to go against Bree's image of perfection, presentation and morale to have sexual relations with a friend's husband -- especially to force them upon him -- but desperate situations call for desperate measures and sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind to the ones you love. 

The only word that came out of Carlos' mouth was her name as she rubbed his back. His tense muscles were relaxing, the fear in his eyes, fading. It had been a good while since he had a good back rub.

Bree paused midway through the massage. "Have I been too harsh on you?"

"No . . . No you haven't," Carlos replied as he turned over onto his back. "I know the measures mothers take to protect their children . . . One time, Mama came and told me that my father ran off with a waitress and abandoned us, but I knew better. She killed him, for me."

As he spoke, Bree slid over his torso. The lack of personal space had brought back Carlos' anxiety, and his eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out. Being in the same room as Bree was bad enough, but being two inches away from her face was another.

"So . . . I've been doing some thinking . . . A lot of thinking. It's not easy for me to say this, but . . . " He paused to nervously itch at the base of his ear. "I won't lay charges against you for hiding the evidence of the crime. The actions you took were wrong, but not the intent. My mother would've done the same if she was in your position."

"My son will not be going to prison," Bree snarled, grabbing the collar of his pajamas. "You can take your feel-good words elsewhere, because as of now, I will be turning deaf ears to them."

"Bree, I -- "

She tightened her grip. "Shut it. Shut it right now."

He did. "If you go within fifteen meters of my son, don't think I won't alert your probation officer!" Bree let him go, but not without smoothing out the creases she had made in the clothing. "After all, you know the measures mothers take to protect their children." 


	2. Forgive Me, Father

**Her**  
by Roaming Tigress

As Bree silently damned him with her icy glare, Carlos felt himself being gradually drawn to her dangerous beauty -- the same beauty which attracts many people to venomous reptiles and big cats. He suspected that she could kill him in the blink of an eye and smile while doing the deed, and as far as he was concerned, that could very well be on her mind. Yet, Carlos didn't want to be anywhere else than underneath her. Even if he pushed her off of him and went into hiding, she would track him down to the ends of the earth to ensure that her secret wouldn't be spilled out in the court, or the neighbourhood. Of the two, Bree couldn't decide which would be worse. 

With gentleness that shocked him, Bree stroked his cheek after smoothing out the last crease in the collar of his blue pajamas. His vulnerability was bringing out her maternal instincts. "It's always best to surrender gracefully . . . "

"Does it look like I'm fighting against you?" Carlos asked apprehensively as he tentatively placed a hand on her back, just to make sure she was in fact human. 

Bree let her hand drag down underneath the collar of his pajamas and lightly kissed him on his nose. As he slid underneath the sheets, she pulled them back. "You know . . . I haven't noticed how handsome you are when you're helpless."

"I-I just can't get away from you, can I?" Carlos sheepishly asked. "You just love seeing me squirm."

Bree just smiled as she started to unbutton his pajama shirt, humming something that reminded him of a Sondheim play he saw some years back.

"I-I haven't worked out that much lately -- " Carlos stammered, blushing furiously as he quickly buttoned himself back up. "You know how it is with kids. They keep you up, day and night. Always needing to be fed, always -- " 

Bree scoffed and snuck a look at his exposed chest. For someone who hasn't 'worked out lately' was in fine form, she thought, and she was insanely curious to see what the rest of him would look like.

"Carlos, Andrew and Danielle didn't pop out of my womb when they were teenagers. I know the work that is involves in being a mother."

"Well, do you mind? It's a little . . . Drafty in here!" Carlos protested, covering himself back up when he saw were her eyes were directed. "If you want to gawk at a nice chest, go go take a peek at Mike Delfino's! Now, he's a man who works out a lot. I'm nothin' to look at, really."

His coyness -- endearing for a man who's as masculine as can get -- was only causing Bree's attraction towards him to grow. Slyly, she ran her hands up his pajamas, having been unable to resist the temptation. He tensed up for a moment, but soon relaxed.

"Mike Delfino does nothing for me."

With that, Bree undid the rest of the buttons, and this time, Carlos did not resist. After she neatly folded the pajama top and placed it down on the beside table, she straddled his muscular torso between her knees and brought her lips down to his. She closed her eyes as she felt his tongue slip into her mouth and felt as if lightening went through her. _Damn, no wonder Gabrielle married him. _ The kiss lingered until quite suddenly, Carlos broke it off She moved off of him, concerned. Was she being too forward? What distracted him? Did she accidentally remove a filling?

"Carlos?"

He looked away, as so she didn't see the sadness that was in his eyes as he realized what he was getting himself into -- falling deeply in love with another beautiful woman who was not his wife. Sure, Gabrielle told him to go have one and after and being impressed by a moment he had with Lynette when she tried to prove a point, he made a proposition to her to even the score. Yet, that he thought he couldn't be able to follow through with it even if she did accept the offer. He suddenly became shy, just a schoolboy asking out the cute girl in class.

Now, though, he felt as if he was betraying his everything -- and his mother. What would she think of him sleeping with the woman who helped cover her hit and run, and letting himself be seduced by her? Knowing the no-nonsense attitude that he was familiar with, he knew she would've smacked him good and be rightfully ashamed of him. 

"Oh, it's nothing, really . . . Just . . . Go on." Bree knew better. 

"Gabrielle . . ." Carlos vacantly murmured as he felt her lips move from his neck and down his chest, but Bree might as well been deaf as she circled her tongue around his nipples. "Gabby, Mama, forgive me . . . "

As she moved down his body, Bree placed her hand over his crotch and felt just exactly what she was expecting -- and grasped it. 

" . . . Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, and forgive her as well." 

Sinning has never been so beautiful for Bree. As she looked upwards, she saw a tear trickling down his cheek and couldn't remember a time when she had felt so triumphant. Now that she had got what she wanted from him -- almost everything -- Bree allowed herself to soften on him but knew just how far to go with that. If she went too far with it, there was a chance that he would turn the tables and have his way. 

"Thank you, Carlos." She leaned down and blew a kiss on his belly.

His frown turned to a lopsided smile but it went away as fast as it appeared. Carlos had to admit that he liked the attention he was getting, but the guilt kept gnawing at his mind. He was still mentally apologizing, cursing himself for falling into a situation he could only get himself into. 

"So you hate me. You really hate me." 

Bree showed him how much she hated him as she laid her head on his chest, stroked the side of his face and ran her index finger along his square jaw. She had him wrapped around her little pinkie for sure and had to refrain from laughing.

"Oh, I just despise you."

Sweat started to drip down his forehead when Carlos realized how much easier it would be if she did hate him. He wouldn't have to worry about running off to the confession box, for one. _Father Crowly surely has other things to do with his time than to hear about me sharing a bed with a under sexed widow who's ten years older than I am. _

"You have an NRA card."

"Well . . . Yes . . . "

"Well, why not use it? I mean, there's no guarantee I won't rat fink to the police." 

Yep, totally whipped. "Because, if I did, that'd put another charge up against me, I will lose that card and that will just not do. There's a need for someone around here who can make decent lemon squares and organize proper social gatherings." "Martha Huber was murdered back in 2004 and Paul Young's still a free man. Hell, from what I've heard, he just put a couple of inches of soil over her with the murder weapon." More drops of sweat dripped down his forehead. 

There was just no escape for Carlos. The more he reminded her that he had thrown in the towel without actually saying so, the more irresistible he was becoming to her and the closer she was getting to her final goal. She had always thought of him as the proud and ruthless business tycoon who lavished his wife with expensive gifts, the roguish felon who seemed to be always be in trouble with the law, much to the annoyance of Gabrielle. Admitting defeat was not one thing she expected from him. Bree always had the impression that he's the type of man, who, once he got his teeth into something, he'd hold onto it like a bulldog and never let go. Just like herself, maintaining his pride was as a matter of importance. 

What Carlos said as he placed his arms around her in a gentle embrace, partly contradicted what she had thought of him. He may be stubborn, but not as much as he had thought -- or what she had thought. 

"I know what you want . .. And I'll give it to you . . . " His voice was quiet, low, depressed.

"I surrender."


	3. Just Because

**Her**  
by Roaming Tigress

Now it was time for his performance, Carlos' anxiety had heightened all the more. What if he didn't please her well enough? It didn't take much to satisfy Gabrielle's desires, but this was Bee Van De Kamp he was dealing with. 

"Well, aren't you going to get on top of me?" She asked, indignant. 

His eyes followed her up and down as she elegantly stripped off her mink fur coat, revealing a sinewy form in a silken red underwear and bra ensemble. Carlos admitted that she far more gorgeous than he had imagined behind her to be underneath her classy wardrobe, yet he knew he shouldn't give into the temptation that laid before him. He tried so desperately to hang on, but he was slipping. Carlos shut his eyes tight, and turned his head away. "I . . . I don't know about this . . . "

Her jaw dropped open in shock. Why the cold feet now?

"I-I just need a moment in the confession box . . . " Carlos replied, rather timidly.

"Er, I mean . .. The bathroom. When I get nervous, I -- " 

Bree got up off of him but seized him by his pajama bottoms just as he got within a arm's distance away, and before he got the chance to finish his fib of a sentence. "Carlos, you promised me sex. It will be sex that I will be getting."

He grinned nervously, acting as if he wanted her to become all the more angry yet still wanting to get on her good side. "I think I hear Gabrielle coming home. If she found out you were in bed with me, oh boy, she won't be happy. I know this nun, she got real beaten up by her when she thought I was sleeping with her."

"Whatever you say will not make me believe you," Bree insisted with calm fury as she slowly reeled him in. "Gabrielle booked a flight to New York and she won't be back until Monday. Until then, it just you, and me." 

It was a Friday. One more score against the unwilling adulterer. 

"Well, I think Lily needs to be fed, and Xiao -- " Both were also brought along with Gabrielle's shopping expedition in the Big Apple. 

Before Carlos could react, Bree pulled him down onto the bed and rolled him into a position that forced him to be straddled over her. What was left of his clothing was vivaciously torn off -- and rather uncharacteristically -- thrown on the ground in a heap. Tidiness was the last thing that was on the raging redhead's mind.   
_  
_ A shiver ran down Bree's spine as she felt his mouth meet up with her fine neck, and the subsequent bite that followed. It was a light, almost tickling sensation, but she definitely felt teeth. The second nibble was a little rougher, sending another chill down and throughout her body. On the third, an eye tooth punctured the skin just above her collarbone, causing a small river of crimson to streak down her perfect, porceline-esque skin. Bree wanted to hear nothing of the apology that came from the Carlos. She wanted more of it, much more. 

As he moved down her chest, his whiskered chin brushed up against a perked nipple. More blood was drawn as she clamped her hand around his biceps and dug her nails in as hard as she could. "Just . . . Rip it off."

Once released, Carlos reached around and unstrapped the bra without a hint of hesitation and set the flames of passion ablaze.

At once, their bodies become one in a entwining tangle of desire, fearful admiration and love that was never meant to have happened. For the both of them, especially Carlos, it was the point of no return. He had let go of the cliff he was hanging onto with one hand and had fully surrendered to the forbidden temptation of loving thy neighbour. Likewise, enemy had become lover for Bree, and deep, dark thoughts were creeping into her complicated mind. She had to make him her's and her's only, and the only way would involve hurting him more for it -- but it would be worth it for her. She wanted no other man but Carlos Solis, her prisoner, her _inamorato. _

Not a moment too soon after Bree's climax cry, Carlos rolled aside with a groan. He had been pushed to the very limit and he grasped his chest, fearing a heart attack. It was pounding so fast that he was sure it was going to stop.

"You . . . You cannot ask me to go another round. If . . . If I didn't satisfy you with what I gave you, just get the knife and slit my throat."

"Carlos . . . What you gave me was the best sex I've had in all the eighteen years of my marriage," Bree replied, eyeing him with genuine concern as she was reminded of a time not too long ago. "Are you going to be all right?"

He nodded after catching his breath and patted her on the knee reassuringly, but yet, seemed distracted. "Yeah, I'll be all right. I've just overdid it a little, I suppose."

"What is it?"

Carlos turned his back on her, causing her to to draw to one unusual conclusion. Additionally, she couldn't help but to notice a certain dampness on the bedsheets. "You're not . . . A crying ejaculator, are you?" 

"No . . . "

As Bree leaned over to kiss him on the injured shoulder, she found she was correct on one thing. Carlos was indeed crying, and her maternal instinct had kicked back in at full force. She wanted to nurture this tortured soul, to hold him in her arms, to tell him that everything will be okay. It was only a moment ago that she envisioned killing the true love of his life, and now she felt horrible for it. Bree would love to have him all for herself, but how could she hurt him more now? He's a fragile man, she discovered, despite his looks and sometimes machoistic tendencies. She heard of his putting a photographer through a window in honour of his wife, and imagined his whole world and maybe his own life being put through one if Gabrielle was ever taken away. 

"It's just that . . . I've said before, that if I were ever to have sex with you, I'd cry," Carlos explained, comforted as she stroked his wavy hair. "Here I am, though, just sobbing. I could've been someone, but . .. But I'm not. I mess up everything I do or try to do. I can't be a good father, I can't be a good husband. I'm just . . . "

Bree held him against her as she sat up. "A child trapped inside a man's body? Now, you have your faults, but you are everything for your girls. You were the one who sent Hector to Gabrielle's place when she had the miscarriage, you were the one who -- " "Changed her birth control pills and forced her to sign a postnup because I couldn't bear to see something not go my way . . . " He sighed deeply. 

She was shocked to hear such things come from Carlos, but still, Bree wanted to be with him. He was lost, and needed to be found. "We all do something we regret . . . "

"Nothing like I've ever done . . ." He hung his head low in shame. "I beat up two gay guys who I thought were cheating on my wife, I put so much attention to my work that I neglected my wife, I was arrested for slave labour, allowed myself to be almost talked into annulling my marriage . . . Mama might even be still alive if I didn't send her over here to check if my wife was cheating on me, as I suspected. I could've done the investigation work myself, but I ran and hid behind her."

Bree grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look into her eyes. She hated to see him put himself down so much -- knowing what it has done to herself -- and wanted to beat him in that game as well as straighten him out.

"I watched a man die and didn't do anything about it, and I helped my husband to his early grave by doing the bed instead of immediately alerting 911. I told my son he was going to go to Hell for being gay. The point is, Carlos, you can't dwell on everything. You need to focus on the now, not the then." There was no denying what she said was true. Sometimes, all that was needed was a little push to get him into the right direction, even if it came from the woman he feared so greatly. With just the faintest hint of a smile, Carlos brushed aside her flawless hair and kissed her on the cheek so lightly that she thought it was just a breeze passing by.

"What was that for?"

His smile widened, and his hand overlapped her's. "Just because."


	4. Watercress Sandwiches

**Her**  
by Roaming Tigress

Gabrielle had only been away for one night and Carlos missed her something awful. It was too foreign for Carlos to get a night's sleep in without her there. He missed the routine of arguing with her, and then having sex to make up for it. Passion aside, Carlos missed the sharp elbowing he usually got for snoring and moving about in his sleep. He thought of the argument he had with her earlier in the week about rolling over and "practically crushing her" when she was dreaming of going on a shopping spree in Milan and sighed deeply. Never would he think that he would miss the bickering, but he did. Without her, it seemed all too much like he was back in prison with only his abusive cellmate as his "companion."

With Andrew away at Camp Hennessy and Danielle staying at a friend's the weekend, Bree had offered him to stay at her place. She longed for the security she had felt in his muscular arms, to again have the companionship of another man in her life -- if only for a few nights. Carlos politely declined the offer, to her disappointment, but told her that he would be at her place at the crack of dawn to take her out for a picnic somewere out of town. She needed to get out of the cul-de-sac if even for a moment to let her hair down, he thought. 

In both homes, there was an unnerving presence of silence. For Bree, she was used to hearing either Andrew or Daneielle get up at some point at night and expected to hear the creaking of the floorboards or the sound of a door shutting. For Carlos, it was Gabrielle's ever so quiet breathing and the occassional vehmoth murmering of something she said earlier in the day when they were having one of their regular bickering sessions, usually in Spanish.

"You can sure drive me crazy sometimes, but what would I ever do without you . . . ?" Carlos said without realizing he was talking to himself as picked up one of the many framed pictures of Gabrielle that was on the table by the staircase. 

On the same street, Bree held her wedding photo as she sat up in bed. She clutched it to her chest, wanting to live life to it's fulles but still holding her love to the man she shared for eighteen years. "I hope you understand, Rex . . . " 

As Carlos headed up stairs with the photo, he spotted a spare key left with a note. 

_In case you change your mind._

_-- Bree_

With a sigh, he took the key -- and the note -- upstairs. 

"I got an hour's sleep in. That's it."

Bree had only began to fall asleep when she heard Carlos' distinct voice. He stood at the foot of her bed, in those adorable pajamas she had seen him in not too long ago. "You didn't come over here wearing a jacket? It must be freezing out there."

"No, no, I was fine," Carlos replied, looking down at her with a tranquil, admiring expression. "I just wanted to check up on how you were doing. Humans just aren't meant to be alone.. I thought I would make through the night without her by my side, but . . . I couldn't."

Truer words could not be spoken. Bree lifted away the corner of the bedspread to invite him in, but Carlos was hesitant. She could tell he wanted to climb in beside her, but at the same time, something was holding him back.

"I cannot tell you enough how much I appreciate you for doing this for me."

Carlos responded with a wide, charming smile. "Hey, what can I say? Any friend of Gabby's is a friend of mine."

Bree returned the smile, and insistently patted the mattress. "It's alright, Carlos. You can come in."

"I would, but . . . Would Rex mind?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck with awkward uncertainty. "I just feel like I'd be dishonoring him for being there, in his spot. He was a good friend of mine, and I feel bad enough that I wasn't able to attend his funeral and pay him the last respects."

When there was no response from Bree, Carlos assumed the worse. Had he been treading on thin ice?

"I . . . I said the wrong thing, didn't I?"

Bree completely understood were Carlos was getting at, and was genuinely touched by the sensitivity he shown for his fallen golfing partner and everyday comrade. "No, it's just that . . . It's just that he would want me to go on with my life and that includes letting someone snuggle up in bed for a cuddle. He would want that, Carlos, especially from you. Since I came over to your place earlier in the day . . . I've never felt so secure before, at least not for so long." 

As Bree spoke, there was a slight catch to her voice and Carlos immediately picked up on it. He could hesitate no longer, and he came into her bed, slipped into the same place Rex once slept and, just as if he was reading her mind, he gave her exactly what she wanted. A part of her felt weak needing to be in a man's arms to feel safe, but what a man's arms, she reminded herself. As long as he was there for her, no harm would come to her.

"You know . . . There was some point were I thought you weren't human. I just thought you were this . . . This thing disguised as a Stepford wife. Just a robot in a wig, void of emotion and running on perfection instead of electricity. Now, though . . . I realize you're just as human as the rest of us. It's such a stupid assumption, isn't it? I guess it's part of our nature to fear what you don't really know." There was shame in Carlos' voice as he explained why he felt the way he did about her, but the curling up of her body on top of his told him that she had forgiven him.

"I don't blame you for feeling that way," Bree said quietly, leaning her head back into his chest as he stroked her hair. "We all have a facade; everything isn't what it seems. 

After a moment of silence, Carlos smiled and kissed her on the top of her head. She had more in common with him than he had thought. "Well, tomorrow, I want you to let your hair down. Don't worry about the bed or . . . The silverware. We'll be bringing plastic knives and forks and cups -- and just you."

_Just you_. For Bree, that was a powerful statement. It was always difficult to put down that image she projected. If she let her guard down and pulled down he veil, she feared she wouldn't be accepted, loved, respected -- much the same reason Carlos puts on a display of machismo to protect his vulnerability. She liked being the talk of her town for making the best pastries and pies, her silverware that didn't have a single water stain and her faultless sewing. Not since her involvement with Peter had she felt she was able to open up and become real; that woman who once drank milk from out of the carton many years ago and wasn't afraid of showing emotion. 

"It'll just be simple things for our lunch. No Ossu Bucco or anything complicated like that. Just those little watercress finger sandwiches. Simple, but classy enough for a lady like you." Carlos received a kiss over his heart for that remark, and a bonus hug around the neck for the companionship he had brought her but didn't have to. 

"Sweetheart . . . How did you know that those were my favorite sandwhiches?" Tears welled in Bree's eyes, but as she wanted to release her bottled up emotions for some time, she was not afraid to let them show. 

With a corner of the bedsheet, Carlos gently wiped them away. It as as if he pressed too hard, she'd break into a million pieces. "Well, let's just say, I guessed right."

"How could I ever repay you?"

Ever since he came out of jail and vowed to become a better person, it never failed to humble Calos whenever he was able to help someone; be it is his Gabrielle, or a dear friend of her's. He wanted her to give him no credit for his kindness, and watched Bree with a protective gaze as she drifted off.

"The things I do for you girls . . . " Carlos fell asleep only after he was certain that no harm would come to the redhead he once feared and loathed, and that all would be well.


	5. Much More

**Her**  
by Roaming Tigress

"Is the lady of the house awake?" Carlos asked in a faux uppercuts tone, complete with an exaggerated eyebrow raise.

Bree turned over and quietly murmured a response to him that wasn't quite understandable, but he went along with it. Even with her hair askew, she looked like a queen. Grand, ready to take on everything with grace. "You slept like an angel last night," Carlos replied with suspicious sheepishness. "Well, except at one point you woke up and gave me the silent stare down. Gabrielle has this big thing about me rolling over her sometimes. I really hope I didn't do that . . . "

As though on cue, Bree sat up and stared him down -- just as he had mentioned. From the way he was looking up at her, it was though he expected her to put a bullet between his eyes.

"You were thinking of reporting Andrew to the police and trying to get me to put the blame on Rex for the cover up of the hit and run."

". . . What? I must've been dreaming."

Bree had always thought that dreams had to take form from some sort of thoughts lurking subconiously, at least partly. If Carlos was dreaming about reporting Andrew to the police, then it was what he was really planning on doing. She had more work to do with him before she was ready to go off onto some idyllic picnic by the river.

"You were planning on taking me out into the countryside, to pacify me and take my mind off of what you were planning on doing about my son."

Carlos couldn't believe what he was hearing. He didn't even remember dreaming, just being woken up with a slap to his cheek and her staring him down intently. Faintly, Carlos recalled her saying something, but he was so out of it that it may have well been said in a foreign language.

"No, I . . . I just thought it'd be a nice gesture," Carlos calmly stated as he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Honestly, Bree. There's no hidden reasons behind it. I was just lonely, and I thought it would do you good to be out of here and away from the neighbourhood.

He wanted her to trust him for the good intention he was offering, but at the same time, couldn't blame her for thinking he had something up his sleeve. "We . . . We could get to know each other a little more. After all these years, I have to say, I know nothing about you."

Bree really did want to fully trust him. She could tell that, even without seeing the silent pleading that was in his eyes. The only problem is, she couldn't find it in herself to do so. She had been too hurt in the past by men who promised to never harm or betray that even an offer from a friendly neighbour was an obstacle in the road that needed to be swerved. Bree was afraid of loving him, and letting him love her.

"It's not that I don't appreciate your offer, and you're a sweet man for suggesting it," Bree lightly rubbed his chest as an affectionate acknowledgment. "It's just that . . . I'm a complicated woman. I need you to show me that you won't be another man in my life who has hurt me."

Carlos was familiar with complicated. He's been married to complicated for half a decade. A little more wouldn't throw him off his groove. "If I hurt you, you have my permission to hurt me back five times harder. I've done enough hurting people in my life."

The dream he had of Juanita Solis snapped back into his mind. He had dreamed that he had passed away, and just as he walked through the golden gates, he got a slap in the face from the mother who he cherished, instead of the hug he had expected and wanted so much. Then, like a flashback, Carlos was back at her grave, begging her for forgiveness and telling her that what needed to be done, would be done. In his mind, by not reporting the crime, Carlos was hurting her. He knew she would want vengeance.

Quite suddenly, he rolled out of the bed. "I'm . . . I'm just going to take a shower at my place and I'll be back." "Whatever is wrong with using my bathroom?" Bree asked, almost offended and noticing that there was something "off" about him. "It's in impeccable form, and every day I work my fingers to the bone making sure it stays that way."

Carlos mentally smacked himself in the face as he took an awkward step back into the bedroom. "Oh, I'm sure you do. It's just that . . . Well, I'm not used to showering in other people's places. Time in jail aside."

"I expected such," Bree replied with a smile that was genuinely warm, not that one that used to creep him out. "While you're having your shower, I'll put on breakfast. I hope you like pancakes and fruit salad."

"Oh . . . I just hate 'em!" Carlos shot her a playful wink as he grabbed his clothes that he set aside on the arm of the couch. "It's been a good long time since I've had pancakes. A couple of months ago I made some as part of a breakfast in bed deal for Gabby." Smiles disappeared as he pressed his spine up against the back of the shower stall and allowed the water come at him at full force, his face void of emotion. If there was one thing Carlos promised his wife, it was fidelity. He had to break the news to her -- she would find out eventually, and not necessarily in the best way. Talk travels quickly in this neighbourhood, he reminded himself. When word got out about his wife's affair with John, practically the whole city of Fairview was talking. He had to get himself out of the fantasy he was living in; for his benefit, and for Bree's. She had been through enough as it is lately, the last thing she would need would be to be known as the woman who sleeps around with married men.

_She needs someone . . . Maybe someone in the theater business. Someone who could really give her what she always needed. _Carlos' thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he felt her hands around his waist.

"Just thought I'd get you all nice and clean for the picnic," Bree coolly explained, working up a rich lather to his midsection. "Breakfast is ready, but it can wait for a little while longer."

He grinned slyly, placing one hand over Bree's. "Don't like to eat it when it's nice and fresh?"

"I'm not a fan of warming up food, but . . . " She lightly traced a finger along the space were belly meets groin and repeated when he squirmed. "In this case, though, I'll sacrifice a little perfection for pleasure. I hope you're not too hungry . . . " Carlos let out a shuddering breath as her hands descended downwards. To think, all this came from was from a innocent invitation for a picnic out in the countryside. He may have come over to her home to offer -- and receive -- companionship, but he got so much more. Innocence, as Carlos has learned, has a double face, and in this case, it belonged to that of Bree Van De Kamp. Oh, what a beautiful face it is, though!

"Oh, I'm just fine . . . " He fibbed, feeling his stomach rumble as she had her way with him.

Bree knew he was lying, and loved him for it. Perhaps he wasn't the best liar she had known, but she'd be damned if it didn't add to his charm. "Well, that's good. I like to have an appetite before a main course."

"I never knew you would ever have a taste for Mexican . . . " Carlos spoke with the tone of a cat's purr as the water trickled down his face like an overlowing river, drowning him in passion. He tried to hold onto the edge, but he had let go, and left the safety jacket to drift downstream.


	6. All Just a Dream

**Her**  
by Roaming Tigress

If only oak trees could talk, the one that towered above Carlos and Bree as they sat next to each other by the riverbend would have a lot to say. It may not have been witness to the awkward talks of doing what was right and what was wrong, the threats, the adultery. It was, however, witness to the aftermath of the complicated tangle between two people who have always appeared to be nothing but having a platonic relationship with one another.

"I'm not much of a sandwich maker myself, I usually just throw whatever together in a couple of pieces of bread. I suppose I consider those little endeavors to be edible, but . . . I have to say, for a first try at aiming for something of a high class calibre, these ain't bad." It was as if making sandwiches was a work of art. Perhaps for Bree, it was, but for Carlos, it was normally just a mere practicality. 

All with the manner of a corrective parent, Bree scoldingly shook a finger at him. "You mean, they _aren't_ bad."

Carlos chuckled as he poured a glass of lemonade and handed it over to Bree. "Mama always got on my case about my grammar. She just hated when I said 'ain't.' Even when I came of age and got married, she would still put me in my place about it." There was much he wanted to say, but he put it off and it showed as he fidgeted with the blanket and blankly stared off down the river. Absentmindedly, he was bringing this to Bree's attention.

She rubbed his shoulder, but said not a word. Bree had a feeling of what Carlos was going to say, and she didn't want to hear the scary sound of reality. 

"I . . . We . . . We can't keep doing this."

There was silence. "Loving each other like we are."

Rage filled in her eyes that, a moment ago, were tranquil. Time and time again she had her heart broken by the many men in her life. There was Rex who promised he would forever be faithful, George who said he would never harm her, Peter who strayed from her, to her son. Now, Carlos might as well be driving a knife into her chest. 

_How dare he reject me! I let him into my bed, into my shower . . . How could he do this to me? What does Gabrielle have that I don't have? _

"I'm sorry it has to be this way . . . " Carlos said quietly, turning his head away from her so that he could not see the fury that was in her eyes. "I have to go back to Gabrielle. She would skin me alive if she found out what was happening between us, and . . . You two are good friends, I wouldn't want to see that change." 

Bree let her mind wander. Perhaps she misheard what he had said. Perhaps it was all a dream, a bad dream. She's had them before,. There's been plenty of moments in which she's woken up crying or the ones that caused her to grab a gun from her collection and head out the front door with it, only to remind herself that it was all just a dream. 

"We can still be friends. You have my phone number, if there's any trouble, you can . . ." 

She couldn't hear Carlos as she cleaned the glass cup, wrapped it and placed it neatly into the picnic basket. As if in a daze, she wandered over to the edge of the river and looked at her reflection in the water.

"It'll be a beautiful wedding . . . "

Carlos was at a loss of words, but not emotion. He hated seeing her like this, getting her hopes up over something that would not happen. He wanted his fiesty, sassy, firey Gabrielle, and the frightfully complex but nurturing Bree. Realistically, Carlos knew he couldn't have them both. "Bree, I . . . " He stood up and held her hand as he looked into the water with her. "I'm not the man for you."

She didn't believe it -- or, she didn't want to believe it. "Oh, of _course_ you are!"

"What if I have another run in with the law?"

Even the image shattering thought of her being married to a man who has frequent run ins with the law did not cause Bree to wake her from her dream. She saw the wedding in her mind, the honeymoon in Milan, the expensive gifts just like the ones he had always given to Gabrielle . . . . And lastly, the children. She saw the happiness in the new life she was living, the smiles, the laughter, the cuddles in front the new fireplace that Carlos had installed as a wedding gift. She saw herself grow old and grey with the man she had figured who was born to be her ideal husband.

"Well, I wouldn't let you fall into a predicament that would cause you to be arrested," Bree pursuaded, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I'm not going to cause you to become so overprotective and jealous to the point you're accidentally beating up gay men who you think are sleeping with me. I will be loyal."

No, she's definately not Gabrielle. Not by a long shot. Bree may not require as as much maintenance -- not needing to get this pair of shoes or that dress from that designer -- but she surpasses her when it comes to being complicated and veering on the side of unpredictability. Carlos had always been good at knowing Gabrielle, predicting what she would react to certain situations. He would know what would cause her to become upset, what would delight her. The same could not be said for Bree, though. What could possibly enthrall her one moment could disappoint her the next. What they did have, though, is an equal share of beauty, brains . . . And love. 

"It wouldn't matter," Carlos sadlly replied, lightly brushing aside her hair so that he could look into her eyes. "I do more wrong than I do right. After all you've been through . . . You deserve much better than that. Whenever I try to do something good, I just mess things up more. You need someone with a clean record, who'll give you what you need, who will make you happy for the rest of your life. Not a screwup."

Bree stayed stoic, unbelieving. She gripped his hand tigher, enough to cause him to wince. "You're only a 'screwup' because you're foolish enough to let yourself become one. You give into her desires, admit it."

"If you were married to me, you would go back to square one," Carlos stated as he broke away from her hold. "You need to wake up . . ."

When reality finally hit Bree, the pain it came with was equal to the sting of a thousand bees. _He is not mine. He cannot become mine. Not ever.  
_  
"You were right, and I was wrong."

Once again, Carlos had hurt the one he had said he had loved. When she turned her back and left, he did not follow.


	7. Those Words

**Her**  
by Roaming Tigress

For nearly three hours, Bree sat in the bay window of her bedroom with all the elegance of a porceline figure as she contemplated. No doubt, the latest man in her life was the subject that was on her mind,and the drama which had been unfolding in just such a short period of time. She kept hearing Carlos saying that he could still be friends with her. It seemed like an innocent enough offer and it was, but now that he had given her something she had been deprived of for so long, it was hard for her to think of him on a platonic level. At the back of her mind, Bree would be thinking of the sex. How it made him cry, and how it made her question her morale and yet feel immensely, secretly enthralled. She thought about how it was Carlos' fear of her which ironically enough, drew him to her. 

Standing at the door was the man on her mind. Just as he was about to ring the doorbell, Carlos pulled his hand back and carefully placed the picnic basket down. Her already afraid of what she would think of him now, let alone her reaction to finding out that he had damaged her dishes.

"Might as well face the music . . . " He sighed, ringing the doorbell. 

Bree let it ring twice before she let herself slip away from her contemplation. She had her guess of who the visitor was, and needed to compose herself before she opened the door. With a deep breath, she headed downstairs and opened the door.

"I thought I'd be a good neighbour and bring this back," Carlos said in a humbled manner, holding out the basket which she wordlessly took. "It's the very least I can do for being such a fool. I-I don't want you to forgive me."

It took guts for him to ring the doorbell. Carlos was so afraid to face her, that he had thought of just leaving the basket on the picnic with a note attached. That would have been the coward's way out, though. He had to put fear aside and be a man.

"Thank you . . . "

He nodded, looking back towards his house, and then back at her. "No problem. I'll . . . I have to go now."

"Actually . . . We need to talk." Inside, she was hurting, fuming, but she took care to not let it show. 

Carlos saw that coming, but he hung back from the offer. As much as there was a lot to talk about, there was a vibe from her that didn't feel right and he didn't want to hang around to see if his suspicion was correct. He had to make up a lie, and fast. 

"I would, but . . . I have to mow the lawn, weed the planters, fertilize the ficus . . . " So much for wanting to throw caution to the wind. Carlos wanted to run far, far away, just as he wanted to when she showed up in his bedroom in her fur coat. 

Bree placed the picnic basket by the doorstep and approached him, coming closer each time he took an apprehensive step back. Before he could get away from her further, she grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him back. There was no need to put up a fight with him; Carlos didn't move another inch, knowing she didn't fall for his little white lie which put him further deep in trouble with her. 

"Gabrielle tells me you have a bad back, which is why you don't do the gardening."

"Well, she'd be right. I don't do it normally, but I gave our gardener some time off, you see, so I thought . . . " Carlos nervously rubbed his arm, wishing he had come up with something better. "

"It won't take too long, I promise," Bree prodded, straightening out the shirt. "Besides, I need someone to sample the muffins I've just made. They're from an old recipe of Aunt Fern's. You _have_ to try them." 

The smell of warmly baked muffins wafted through the kitchen windows proved to be all too tempting for Carlos. He followed her inside, leaving his paranoia at the door. To what was to come, he would've wished that he had brought it with him. 

"I'll put the kettle on and make a quick run up stairs," Bree placed a plate of raspberry oatmeal muffins in front of him and patted him on the cheek. "Enjoy!"

Carlos forlornly watched her as she ascended the stairs. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was -- to the point of begging, even -- but the pessimist inside told him that it was probably too late for that. He suspected that she livid with him behind that facade of smlies -- and he would be correct. 

Upstairs, she handled the gun like she would with a fine bone china teacup. She polished it not once, not twice, but three times. Firearms became a necessity when Rex was away at long conferences and she felt the need to protect herself and her family in a "what if" situation, but now she had another reason to be a NRA carrier. That reason, in her mind, was to to take away the source of her pain.

She knew that her membership would be revoked immediately if she shot him without him putting her in danger, so she knew he would have to make it so ithat it looked like had harmed her first. It was a horrible trick that her son had pulled not long ago and it went against her morale, but it certainly wouldn't be a first time. There was a risk that it would be let out that the injuries were self inflicted, there was the risk that this would backfire, winding her up in the hospital before she was able to extract her revenge. Yet, the cons of the sordid plan were overshadowed by the chance she could very well get away with murder.

The knife cut across the width of her arm, deep enough to be believable, but also shallow enough to make it look like he had only just grazed her and that she got him before he did any further damage. The knife injury wasn't enough, though.

Carlos heard a thumping sound from upstairs, but shrugged it off and resumed nibbling on the second muffin. He assumed that she was just moving furniture around and thought nothing of it, until he heard it again, and then silence. Dead silence.

Was it an intruder? Did she fall and perhaps hurt herself? There was only one way to know for certain, and Carlos' protective nature led him up the stairs, and into the path of a rifle.

_KABAM!_

The force of the shot and the shock of it sent him veering back halfway down the stairs. He hadn't had the chance of attempting to talk her out of what she did, but he knew the reason why. As she looked down at him with the gun aimed at the space between his dark chocolate eyes, he took his hand hand off the right hip and gave her a look that, without needing to say anything, told her to finish him off.

"Bree . . . I . . . I understand, and I forgive you." The aim was taken off of him, but as his words sunk in, the trigger inside her head went off. Those words he spoke were all too familiar to her, the same words in the note that Rex had wrote before his passing, the same words which she believed meant that she was the one responsible for his death.

"Get it over with . . . " Carlos' eyes were shut tight, expecting the second blast, but not the kick to the chest which sent him tumbling down the rest of the staircase. "I . . . I am so sorry, Bree, I never, I never . . . "

_Please, Bree, let me die . . . _

As he hit the ground, he felt a whack to the ribcage that could've only been delivered by the end of a rifle. Another blow was delivered, followed by a kick to the stomach that was so violent that he was amazed that she hadn't disemboweled him. He nearly passed out from the pain, but a flash of crimson gave him reason to fight against letting himself black out. Through blurry vision, he could see bruising to her face and her other arm.

"Wh . . . Why did you do this to yourself?" Carlos quakingly reached out and touched her arm -- her injured arm -- just as she was going to bring the gun down to deliver the fatal blow to his head.

Feeling faint, Bree knelt down beside him. "Oh, it . . . It doesn't matter."

"To me . . . It does."


	8. War Wounds

**Her**  
by Roaming Tigress

Bree turned away so that she could conceal the tears. "I . . . I wanted to kill you because . . . You said something I didn't want to hear. I wanted to make it look like you attacked me, and I killed you in self defense."

"You have every right to fear going into jail," Carlos replied as he tore off his sleeve and wrapped it around her wound, wincing as he managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. "It's . . . It's a very dark place. What goes on it if you're not top dog, I won't get into. You are a smart woman. You could've done it, and gotten away with it, all without needing to hurt yourself. You're good with bleach."

When it came clear to her that Carlos' pain was becoming too much, she eased him onto his side and lifted his shirt so that she could take a better look at the injury. She knew the logical thing to do would have taken him straight to the hospital, but Bree knew he would have to fill out a police form. Thus, she was left with only two options; to leave him to die, as she had done with George, or to take on the role of being a nurse.

Bree had chosen the latter. She envisioned Gabrielle in her place, as a widow, and did not like to see what she saw. "If you do not stop with this talk of death, I will have to hurt you a little more than I actually have to."

"Yes, dear . . . " Carlos moaned, already feeling the sting of antiseptic as she left to retrieve medical supplies.

He hated to be left alone, if even if it was only for the three minutes she spent away from him. What if he died, all alone? In the shape he was in, it was a justified fear. Even in a state of perfect health, Carlos had always feared dying alone and had always put blame on his insecurity on it.

"Bree . . . Where are you?" With unsteady legs, he got up and grabbed the rail of the staircase while his other hand remained clenched over his wound.

She gasped as she came down, almost dropping the first aid kit on the way. "Carlos, get on the couch. Right now." 

Whatever is he thinking, getting up and moving about in the shape he's in?

"I . . . I had to find you . . . I was afraid, I felt so alone . . . " Carlos explained, easing himself down on the couch with Bree's assistance. "I know, it's pathetic. You were away for a few minutes and here I was, getting a case of separation anxiety."

To Bree, it didn't sound it pathetic in the least -- she could relate to that fear, but when the doorbell ringing once again, she was forced to leave him once more. Just before she did, though, Bree gave him a short, comforting rub to his chest.

"I'll be right back, dear. I promise."

On the doorstop was Julie and Susan. Without even needing to ask, Bree knew the reason for them being there. Damn it! If I went after him with a knife instead . . . !

"We heard the gun go off," Susan said, shaken. "Thought we'd come over here and just see if everything was all right."

Though she appreciated the concern, Bree's heart started to pound. Once a neighbour manages to suspect something happening with another, they usually find out what they're hiding -- as she had discovered for for herself. Nothing stays a secret for long, but if she played the cards right, she could delay the process.

"Oh, I'm fine. I was just polishing the rifle and it went off."

Behind them, on the sidewalk, stood several of the other neighbours. McClusky, the Scavos, Ida Greenburg; they were all there, waiting to pick up any hints of what was going on.

"I mean it, it was an accident!" Bree insisted, almost accusationally.

"We believe you," Julie reassured. "We're good friends, aren't we? We would never accuse you of lying."

Bree sighed, putting a hand to her forehead and keeping her injured one behind her back. "I apologize . . . It's just that I've been feeling a bit off today. I think the Osso Bucco I did last night was a bit undercooked."

"Well, if you have any problems, let us know," Susan replied, getting over the shock of the rifle going off. "I had plans to go to a children's book writing convention, but if you're not feeling well -- "

Julie rolled her eyes at her mom's prying. "Mom, I think she'll be fine."

"Julie's right. I will be fine!" Bree said sweetly, squeezing her hand. "I want the both of you to go about your day and not worry about me. I get these stomach viruses once in a while, they're absolutely nothing to worry about."

"Alright, well . . . " Susan smiled, fiddling with a strand of her hair while Julie grabbed her arm as a signal to get going. "I hope you feel better soon."

"I just need a lie down," Bree nodded. "I do appreciate the concern, Susan. I want you know that."

Carlos listened as Bree lied, knowing that it was only a matter of time until the police would be brought in. No doubt, she would suspect him of being the one who tipped them with the information. After all, he was the one who she shot and subsequently assaulted.

"So . . . What should I do?"

Bree did not reply as she took the antiseptic from the white tin. "Now, this is going to sting, just hold still and don't kick me . . . "

"Bree, what am I going to -- ARGH!"

She grimaced, almost feeling his pain. A little hydrogen peroxide was added and she held his hand as he cringed. "I took them forever to figure out it was Paul Young who killed Martha. Accidents happen all the time. You will say that you distracted me while I was cleaning it, and it went off."

"How would I be able to explain to Gabrielle that I was in your place?" He asked, surprised that the extraction of the bullet was less painful than what he had anticipated it to be. "That I was . . . Picking up my newly darned socks . . . Sampling your muffins?"

She winked, twisting around his second idea. "The latter would work."

Bree felt as if her hand was going to break from Carlos' tightened grip as she set work to the next step, and perhaps the most painful one -- especially without anesthetic -- stitching up. With Rex being a doctor, it was only natural that he had obtained a surgical stitcher stored away for emergencies, but alas, the bottle of local anesthetic had gone past it's expiration date. Even if she injected Carlos with it, it wouldn't do any good.

She as finished off, she put Carlos through a little more suffereing as she lightly dabbed the area with alcohol. "There, all done. They'll dissolve on their own."

"You're just hellbent on putting me through pain, aren't you?"

Irregardless of his complaint, it was no surprise that her repairwork on him turned out to be as flawless as the ones she had made to her's and her family's clothing. A surgeon could do no better, he admitted, but even the best of surgeons could not fit the damage that laid ahead.


	9. How Can I Tell?

**Her**  
by Roaming Tigress

The painkillers Bree had administered Carlos knocked him out cold for three hours straight. His breathing was shallow, almost nonexistent -- just as she might as well be as he weakly pleaded for her to be there for him. 

"Hold me, Bree . . . Hold me . . . I need you . . . " 

His calls came unanswered as she stared through the curtain and rubbed the spot were the wedding ring was once worn. As part of the healing process, Bree was distancing herself from him as she faced the reality that she wished wouldn't come so soon. She slowly turned around from the window to give him the comfort that she so desired, but Bree told herself that if she came over there and patted his cheek or his arm, or even lightly stroked his his luxuriously thick hair, she would become attached once again, and therefor making it all the splitting up process all the more difficult. She steeled herself, and slowly sat down on a window side chair. 

"Carlos . . . I . . . I can't." 

It was around the time he started to wake when Gabrielle arrived home. She pulled her sporty little up the driveway and came up the pathway in her mincing little steps, eager to show Carlos what she had bought. 

"Hey, honey? I'm home!" She exclaimed, awkwardly whilst holding onto a stack of boxes, many which were almost bigger than she was.

Carlos was always there at the door when she came back from her on her out of town shopping forays. He would be a gentleman and take the boxes from her and put them down somewhere, and then with that big grin of his, he would pick her up in her arms and lift her up as if she didn't weigh a pound. She would then show him the nice shiny but more or less overpriced and sometimes over the top purchases that he would lovably snark at. 

This time, though, his handsome six-foot-one frame that dwarfed her, did not greet her.

"Why of all days did that man decide not to be at home?" Frustrated, Gabrielle dropped her box of designer wear on the porch, not realizing that the early morning when she left for New York was to have been the last time she would ever see him again.

The phone rang at the Van DeKamp residence, and she let it ring twice before picking it up.

"Hello?"

It was Gabrielle. She paused for a moment to leave the room, shutting the door behind her. "No, I haven't seen him this afternoon . . . The last time? When you two were out jogging past my house last Thursday, when Lighten and Tom joined in and I invited you guys in for a glass of lemonade. Maybe he's gone off to church or his visiting his mother's grave. Those are the only places I can think of, other than maybe he's doing grocery shopping."

Gabrielle filed her nails on the counter, becoming suspicious. "Bree, he left the car in the garage. Are you absolutely certain you haven't seen him?"

"I'm positive," Bree replied. "Maybe he's out jogging, or just out for a stroll. If I were you, Gabrielle, I wouldn't be worrying. He's bound to return home soon."

The younger lady let out a heavy sigh, carefully twirling her fingers around the cord to avoid damaging her newly manicured nails. "I know . . . It's just that on my last night at the hotel, I had the most horrible dream about him, and . . . I just want to make sure he's all right." 

She dreamt was that she had left for Milan for a month, and that Carlos had missed her so much, that he had died of a broken heart. As she arrived home, she found him mummified on the bed. In his hand was a photo of herself, and on the back of it was a note which simply read:

_I have always loved you._

_- Carlos._

"If it is of any comfort to you . . . I'll come over for a visit until he gets back."

She waved it away. "Oh, nah, I'll be -- "

"It's no convenience for me, honestly."

The first thing that came into Carlos' blurred vision as he awoke was Bree's beautiful smile as she pulled up a chair beside him. What he didn't realize was that ugly lurked behind beauty; darkened thoughts were hidden by her smile and gentle touch.

"What a way to wake up . . . " He had just the slightest hint of a smirk, and tried to not let her see it as he stiffly turned over onto his back so that she could be sure she really didn't gut him with that kick. Or, so was her excuse as she put her hands to his lightly toned belly. 

"So . . . Did you spill any intestines?" Carlos scoffed, hiding the secret pleasure by acting his usual grumpy self. "Sure kicked me hard enough."

Bree saw the smile that he tried to hide, and lowered her hand on his torso as she reached her other one into the first aid kit. When she felt the lid of a canister, she pulled it out and deliberately hid the label. 

"You'll be just fine.. There's just some bruising, but I just have the thing for it."

"Can't you just . . . Massage it away?" Carlos asked, perhaps a little hopeful. "Seem to need a pill for everything, when I think some other things do just as good of a job . . . If not better."

"Oh . . . Maybe I can, but first . . . " Bree would gave into into his request -- after all, he had done so many things for her when he didn't have to -- but not without a hitch. She shook the bottle for emphasis, and held out a glass of water.

With a sigh, he took the medicine and was out for the count soon after. 

"You're none the wiser . . . " She ran her hand through his hair, patted him on the hand, and left him. 

One hour later, Bree sat in her bed in a state of shock. She cannot get the nightmarish mental images out of her head, of the twisted, tiny body being underneath the chair, the blood splattered on the glass of the front door and the floor. The worst sight of all -- her severed hand, still gripped tightly on the cell phone. 

_No, no . . . This didn't happen. This couldn't have happened. It's all just a dream . . . ._

Despite the reoccurring thoughts of doing the deed, Bree couldn't go ahead with murdering Gabrielle. She especially couldn't after the talk she had with her in the kitchen about the trials and tribulations of marriagehood, and her going on about how excited Carlos was at becoming a father. Up until then, she had no idea that she was pregnant, and felt doubly guilty. __

How could I have done that? To have almost murdered an innocent child, just because I wanted the man I couldn't have? How could I have ever had these feelings in my head in the first place? There are many attractive, rich men out there, why did you have to want to the one who was going to start a family? 

She came upon the grisly discovery as she went to drop off a basket of muffins. She could still hear Gabrielle's voice, telling her how she was looking forward to sampling them.

" . . . Oh, Carlos isn't much of a cook, but when he puts his mind to work, he's a damn good muffin maker!" She could recall her saying, with that big grin. "You should come by sometime. I'd love to see you and Carlos get involved in a baking competition."

_I must have jinxed this. _

" . . . How can I tell him?"


	10. I Need You

**Her**  
by Roaming Tigress

"I should be heading back home by now, Gabrielle must be wondering were the hell I was."

Bree jolted awake from the stunned state, unable to say what needed to be said. "About Gabrielle, Carlos . . . "

"Yeah, I know!' He laughed, saddening her with just how unaware he was of what happened. "She's going to be pissed when she finds out I wasn't there waiting for her at the door. Heck, I remember one time she was practically on fire because I wasn't . . . " Carlos suddenly became serious, and the look on his face was one of dread. He could tell from Bree's demeaner that all was not well, and already, his heart started to race as he expected the worst. "Tell me what's wrong with her."

"Gabrielle is dead."

The words didn't register with him. 

" . . . What?" When it finally sank in, he tearfully, but silently, sat down on the corner of her bed. 

Bree moved in beside Carlos and slipped a comforting arm around his back that she soothingly rubbed as his crying intensifed. "I . . . I was going by to drop off a basket off muffins, and I found her . . . I'm so, so sorry."

Bree cried with him, holding him close. Gabrielle wasn't just a dear friend, with her being the youngest of her girlfriends, she thought of her as almost another daughter. She remembered being there for her when she had a miscarriage, and the night before it, talking about her becoming a mother, how she didn't want to become a bored housefrau. She could still remember meeting her for the first time, walking in on her while she was just finished making love to Carlos. 

She could not forgive herself for those fleeting moments of murderous jealousy. Never. 

"I . . . I need to see her, Bree . . . I need to see her. I need to be with her . . . " He was dying within, surely but slowly. She felt his tears trickle down onto her shoulder as he weakly held onto her, his energy draining from him. 

She hesitated for a moment. A part of her held back, knowing very well that if he saw what had happend to her, could very well mean the end of him.

"Of course . . . "

Bree took his hand gently, guiding him with her when he became hesitant. She knew had to tell him, to prepare him for what he was going to see, and like him, she held herself back. "I . . . I just want to let you know that I think . . . "

It was hard for Bree to say what she was going to say. Immensely difficult.

"Carlos . . . She was murdered."

There was silence as he stood in the doorway in complete disbelief. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't possibly be true. Who would ever think of hurting such a beautiful woman? No, there had to be some sort of mistake. Carlos always believed that she would outlive him, with that energy that she had. She may have had her enemies, but she would always run circles around them, he thought. None could ever catch up with her. He would hope that after his passing, she would be out and about, at the dating game. He wanted her to be happy, to have someone who could really give her what she needed in her winter years of her life. 

Not a word came from Carlos' mouth. He stared at the division between the floor and the wall, not blinking. 

"I . . . I didn't want to believe it, either -- "

Bree's sentence was cut off when suddenly and violently, he grabbed her by the arm and wrenched her forward so quickly that she had no time to react. If he so desired, Carlos could have snapped it like a twig. He certainly had the strength and was in the mindset to do so. 

After the initial shock of unexpectedly meeting his bad side, she regained her composure. No doubt, his grab would leave a bruise on her fine skin, but better that than what could have happened. 

"Gabrielle . . . Gabrielle isn't dead!" He yelled, bringing her up closer to his face and lowering his voice as so not to attract attention. "You're . . . You're playing mind games with me. I have already told you, I am not the man for you."

He roughly let her go, and wandered down the hallway in a daze. "I . . . I need to get back to her now. She'll be wondering where I am."

"Carlos . . . " 

There was no reply as he headed down the hallway. He was slipping into denial. Bree knew it when she saw it, she had been down that road before and knew of the pain it brought when reality showed it's ugly face. She wanted noting more than to be with him, but she held back. He needed to have a private moment with his wife, before she gets taken away and shoved into a freezer until the autopsy. 

"Love you . . . " She said softly, hearing the door shut. 

Carlos paid little attention to the police cars that were parked on the side of the street. Just another break-in, he figured. Lately the neighbourhood watch had been slacking off on it's duties, not that it had prevented Caleb from breaking into his place when it was supposedly in full force. He just shrugged it off and moved on to his until something stopped him in his tracks.

It was a body bag, being brought out to the hearse -- and he could tell from the size of the body inside it that it had to be Gabrielle. The confirmation could not be anymore painful; she really was gone, this wasn't a mind game that Bree was playing with him. This wasn't some nightmare he was dreaming. 

Even in her death, Carlos made it his duty to protect her from everyone else. There was no letting her go off to the coroner, even if it could help her find her assailant. 

"GODDAMN IT, GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER!" He was so furious, that he was trembling and lurched forward as he was suddenly grabbed from behind by a officer. "Let me go, damn it! I need to be with her!"

He thrashed more violently as he was handcuffed and pinned up against the patrol car. "You killed her . . . You killed her . . . " His anger died as the tears trickled down his cheek, and he slumped, unable to fight anymore. 

"Carlos, I'm here, I'm sorry . . ."

It was Bree. She soothingly patted him on the back, turning to the officers. "Just let him see her. That's all he wants."

"He can when she's cleaned up . . . "

The answer from the policeman wasn't good enough for Bree. "No, I insist it. Do I have to speak to your sergeant?"

"Fine . . . "

Carlos came to her slowly, unsurely.


End file.
